I knew it was over because he told me so. He wrote me a letter while he was bedridden with a fever. “I cannot this relationship,” it read. I hoped the broken English of the English student signified that the fever was getting to his brain. He didn’t mean it, I told myself. He’ll come crawling back once he heals. It seemed to me a logical conclusion to draw at the time, but now I see that I was experiencing nothing more than the first stage of grief: denial.
“Denial deludes you and pumps you full of unrealistic expectations. Denial drives you to dream”
Denial is ruthless. Denial deludes you and pumps you full of unrealistic expectations. Denial drives you to dream. I dreamt of him a lot this past summer. Every spare moment was lent to a fantasy. I would sit in my back garden on sunny days, eyes closed and imagination wide. I dreamt of seeing him in September for the first time since the breakup. I hoped his eyes would brighten when he saw me. He would approach me tentatively and breathe a sigh of relief when I reciprocated his advances. We would live happily ever after. All would be well.
Denial makes life so much worse. I was convinced my fantasies would actualise, that I was a master at manifesting exactly what I desired. But when that fateful September day rolled around and I saw him again, I experienced the most heartbreaking rejection of my life. He didn’t even acknowledge me. After all we had been through together, my presence didn’t warrant even an eyebrow raise or a head nod. I was forced to confront my denial head-on. He was standing firm on his decision, and that would not change no matter how hard I denied it.
Before he broke up with me, I knew our relationship was a ticking time bomb. I knew this because I was fighting for him, resisting the inevitable end. He couldn’t love me the way I needed him to, but I begged him to regardless. I sunk all the time and money I had into him, hoping it would keep him around. I apologised profusely for all the parts of me that I could tell irked him. I told him I didn’t want to be that way, that I wanted to change. I assured him that I would change if he would stay around long enough. My grand gestures and self-deprecation were a pitiful last resort. I was exhibiting a sort of acceptance that our relationship wasn’t working, but a brash denial of the notion that it had to end. I felt pathetic.
“Is it ever worth fighting to keep a relationship alive?”
Is it ever worth fighting to keep a relationship alive? For me, the answer is no. But reason never stopped a woman in love and in denial. The very notion of “fighting” to maintain a relationship is absurd in my case. I am nineteen. Life grants me myriad options of romantic partners. Adult discontent and obligation cannot mess with my relationships just yet. I am young and so I am lucky. Love is not a calculated decision I ought to make. Loving is not what I, a rational economic actor, should do to maximise my returns. I am free to surrender myself to love and its whims. When you are young, you love because your body tells you to, because of genetic diversity, pheromones, soulmates and happily ever after. You don’t love because you have a house to hold together. You love because you can’t remember how it feels to do anything else. I suppose the problem between him and me was that he could imagine himself doing something other than being in love with me. His love for me was optional, occupying only one of many paths that stretched out before him. My yearning had been wholly one-sided. I was crushed by this realisation. When he broke up with me, he had meant it. It was over.
“No one wants to accept that all they have is not enough”
It is no wonder denial is the first stage of grief. Love is a markedly vulnerable thing that prompts you to offer your whole self over to another. “Here I am, this is all I have to give, please accept me and love me for all that I am.” No one wants to accept that all they have is not enough. But we hopeless romantics must respect both ourselves and the objects of our affection. No means no and no degree of denial will change that. If you feel you love someone, you ought to respect them and keep your denial to yourself.
I feel it is, in a certain way, vital to let go immediately. If a person no longer wants to be with you, it is unlikely that any pestering will change that. It is important to let go in a way that respects the other person’s decision. This means, in essence, leaving them alone. But letting go completely, letting go of all the hopes and dreams that flood your mind, is another thing altogether. I’m finding it difficult. I still use the same deodorant as him. I use the body wash he had in his shower while we were together. I think of him while I hold my teddy bears and drift off to sleep. I still hold out hope that we might have something of a chance, sometime in the future. I know we don’t. I know I’m in denial. But I can’t accept it just yet. The slimmest possibility brings the greatest comfort. Denial keeps me warm at night.
